


If The Hoodie Fits

by FrenchKey, JayofOlympus



Series: Ladies of Marvel Bingo 2019 [6]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop Friendship, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Deaf Character, Deaf Clint Barton, Gen, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Kate Bishop, Sharing Clothes, Side Effects Of Magic, Telenovelas, self-sacrificing idiots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24309925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrenchKey/pseuds/FrenchKey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayofOlympus/pseuds/JayofOlympus
Summary: Clint's hoodies are just more comfortable.Or: 5 times someone stole Clint's hoodie and 1 time they gave him one instead.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Kate Bishop, Clint Barton & Skye | Daisy Johnson, Clint Barton & Wanda Maximoff
Series: Ladies of Marvel Bingo 2019 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706140
Comments: 7
Kudos: 52
Collections: Ladies of Marvel Bingo 2019





	1. Kate Bishop

**Author's Note:**

> Let's be honest, the hoodie doesn't even need to fit all that well...
> 
> This is our fill for square E5 - Sharing Clothes of the Ladies of Marvel Bingo. Because we're us, there are more chapters on the way! Hope you enjoy!

Clint looked up when the door slammed into the wall, hard enough that he could hear it, even without his aids in. He watched Kate storm through, shedding a fancy bag, a pair of high heels and a jacket that even _he_ could tell was expensive on the way. They were in a dress. Clint winced. Clearly they hadn’t managed to get out of attending the gala with their parents after all. He looked around, trying to remember where he’d dumped his aids earlier.

Once he had them, he wasn’t surprised that the first thing he heard was Kate swearing a blue streak from the loft where they’d disappeared to dig through his stuff.

‘Want coffee?’ he called up to them, confident they’d either find what they were looking for or make him find it for them.

He started up a fresh pot of coffee without waiting for an answer, knowing that they’d probably appreciate it anyway. He was pretty sure he’d need a coffee too.

There were a couple of loud thumps that he pretended to ignore. Sometimes, he wished he could just go and stick an arrow through Kate’s parents and install them in the spare room. He knew they wouldn’t appreciate it though. They’d long said that if anyone was to be allowed the dubious pleasure of shooting the elder Bishops, it would be them. Which was fair. 

They stormed back down the stairs wearing a pair of the sweatpants they kept in the dresser and Clint’s favourite purple hoodie. They had several of their own outfits here for emergencies, but somehow, they always ended up in that hoodie.

‘Gimme the fucking coffee,’ they grumbled, barely waiting for him to finish pouring before they snatched up the mug. ‘What a fucking night. I thought I was gonna stab someone.’

Clint nodded, though he really didn’t get it. He’d never been in their position, so he didn’t really know what it was like to have to pretend the way they did. All he knew was that being forced to go to those stupid society parties left them drained and angry. That was all he really needed to know.

‘I didn’t see any blood when you came in, so I guess you were able to keep a lid on it,’ he said, sipping at his own coffee.

They wiggled their hand, then shoved it into the pocket of the hoodie. ‘Eh, just about. I only smashed a couple of glasses. On a totally unrelated note, can I sleep on the couch tonight?’

‘When have you ever asked permission?’ Clint asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘You know where the blankets are.’

Kate flushed. ‘I’m just… checking you’re cool with it, I guess?’ they said, shrugging. ‘It’s been a long night.’

Clint took note of their tense posture and drawn expression. Something had happened, besides their usual passive aggressive hints to their dad that they’d rather be literally anywhere else in the world than the party. They’d smashed glasses at parties before, but mostly while pretending to be really drunk in order to embarrass their dad into leaving early.

‘I’m cool with it,’ he assured them. ‘You’re not interrupting my incredibly exciting night of watching Dog Cops and sorting my arrows.’

Kate snorted, and flipped up their hood. Clint pretended not to notice that it sounded a little wet. Kate hated it when they cried.

They sat in silence for a while. Clint hauled over a quiver that he’d been shoving random arrows into for weeks. He sort of regretted it now that he had to sort them all out, but he’d probably do it again. He tipped them all out and tried to work out where they should be. He kept half his awareness on Kate as he worked.

‘My dad’s a dick!’ they growled eventually, shoving the hood back down.

Clint nodded, and looked up at them. ‘Wanna rant, or wanna have a distraction?’

Kate took a deep breath through their nose, steadying themself. ‘Rant. I think I need to rant,’ they said, glaring down at their coffee.

Clint motioned for them to begin. _’Take your time,’_ he signed. _’I’m listening.’_

‘I tried to come out,’ they said, jaw clenching in anger. ‘Like, I told them that I’m nonbinary, and I told them I want them to use the right pronouns for me. My mom said “that’s nice dear” like a fucking stereotype! She couldn’t sound more like a middle aged white socialite if she tried. My dad didn’t say anything at all! And then the party came up and my dad sent me out for that goddamn dress.’

Clint tapped their jaw when they stopped for a breath, reminding them not to grind their teeth.

They stuck their tongue out at him, which he figured achieved the objective well enough.   
‘And, he’d clearly briefed the fucking tailor beforehand because he flat-out refused to consider any alterations to the design! I knew I wouldn’t be able to talk him into a suit or anything but I wanted a _little_ less cleavage on display. I didn’t think that was so fucking unreasonable?’

Clint silently held out the coffee pot to refill their mug. He wanted to offer a hug but he knew it would be better to wait until they’d finished ranting and asked for one. Instead he watched them tug at the drawstring on their hoodie.

‘It only got worse when we actually _got_ to the party,’ they continued, their voice getting a little strained as they fought to keep their emotions in check. ‘First thing out of the bastard’s mouth when he saw someone he knew was “you’ve met my lovely daughter, haven’t you?” Like I hadn’t told him less than two days ago that I didn’t like him saying stuff like that. Goddamn it!’

Lucky seemed to sense their distress, because he sat himself at their feet, head on their knees while he stared up at them with his good eye.

‘He spent the whole night doing that,’ Kate said, burying their unoccupied hand in Lucky’s thick fur. ‘Kept calling me Katherine too, the prick. I got real tired of it real fast. I might’ve had a couple more wines than I should have too. I ended up snapping and confronting him about it. Told him to knock it off, ‘cause we’d spoken about it. He told me to quit making a scene. So I made a bigger scene, ‘cause I’m a dumbass. I threw a glass on the ground and started yelling at him, and then I stormed out. I turned my phone off too.’

‘You’re not a dumbass,’ Clint said. 

‘Am too! Lots of people heard it. I basically came out to the entirety of New York’s high society and he is _going to kill me_ ,’ Kate wailed, finally losing their grip on their emotions. Lucky whined and jumped up, wriggling into their lap.

‘Maybe he shoulda thought of that before he was such a dick about it,’ Clint suggested, shrugging. ‘And hey, you don’t gotta talk to him ever again if you don’t want to. You’re an adult. You can do what you want. You don’t need him.’

Kate buried their face in Lucky’s fur, and whatever they said next was lost. Clint figured he wasn’t meant to hear it anyway.

‘I’ll be here, whatever happens,’ he said, patting Kate’s shoulder. ‘Whatever you need.’

_’Promise?’_ they signed, not lifting their face.

‘Promise,’ Clint vowed. ‘I bet I could convert the junk room into somewhere actually fit for you to sleep without too much effort.’ He stopped and thought for a minute. ‘Well, maybe. That might actually take a strategic application of fire… Or, there’s an empty unit down the hall you could rent. You’ve got options, Katie-Kate.’

Kate’s shoulders shook, and for a second Clint worried that he’d made them cry. The worry only lasted until they finally sat up, laughing so hard their face was red.

‘Only you would think that the best approach to clearing out a room is to just set shit on fire,’ they laughed. ‘It would mean less stupid parties, though.’

Clint grinned. ‘Avengers parties and charity galas only,’ he confirmed. ‘Same parties I gotta go to. But you can wear whatever the fuck you want, since the rest of us do anyway. And! Best part is the look on people’s faces when you walk in with the Avengers! What better petty revenge than to be cooler than them?’

They grinned at him. ‘Dad would be so fucking mad,’ they said. ‘I… could I really do that? Just, leave?’ They started playing with the drawstring again.

Clint took a deep breath and tried to be serious for once. He hated having feelings and shit, but he cared about Kate, so he’d try. 

‘You don’t have to,’ he said. ‘It’s your call and I’ll back whatever play you make. But, if you want to leave, then, yeah, you can. You’re twenty years old. You have enough money to get by, and even if you didn’t, I’d just make Tony buy you stuff until you did. You’ve got skills. Cap’s been muttering about asking you to join the team for ages. No one is gonna force you to do anything, but you’ve got options.’

Kate stroked over Lucky’s head without speaking for several minutes. 

‘You’re wrong,’ they said eventually, ‘my dad’s gonna force me to do stuff if I go back.’

‘I can’t make the decision for you here, kiddo,’ Clint said. ‘What I can do is tell you that you deserve better. You deserve to live for yourself instead of other people. You’re allowed to walk away from things that are making you unhappy.’

Kate nodded slowly. ‘I know,’ they said. ‘I don’t know if I’m ready to make that decision yet though. I wanna avoid it a little longer.’

‘That’s alright too,’ Clint said. ‘What are you thinking right now?’

Kate took another deep breath. ‘I’m gonna call America in the morning,’ they said. ‘I think I want to take a road trip and spend a whole bunch of my dad’s money until he cuts off my credit card. And when I’m done, you’d better have my room ready.’

‘I think I can manage that,’ Clint said, ‘as long as your road trip lasts at least a week. There’s a decent amount of junk in there.’

Kate grinned at him. ‘You’re not allowed to set any of it on fire until I get back,’ they said.

‘Deal.’

Kate left the next morning before Clint was even on his first cup of coffee. They’d been gone for hours and had sent a selfie of them and America in a fancy car, driving upstate, when he realised they’d never given his hoodie back.


	2. Wanda Maximoff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Nat is referred to using he/him pronouns in this chapter. We didn't specify, but Nat is nonbinary (in this fic, and most others that we write).
> 
> Chapter 3 will be coming on Tuesday.

Clint just wanted to collapse onto his bed and sleep for a day straight. The mission hadn’t gone badly, per se, it had just gone _long_. He was exhausted. That was probably why it took him a minute to even realise that something was weird about his room. He hadn’t been able to find the energy to drag his ass back out to Bed-Stuy after the debrief, so he was staying in his room at the tower. He only used it sometimes and he definitely hadn’t been there in the last week, because he’d been stuck up a tree waiting for a mark. Yet, the door was open a crack.

He wasn’t paranoid, unlike some of the other residents of the tower. He trusted JARVIS, and the security system Tony had set up. Whoever was in his room was someone with permission to be in the building. That’s why he didn’t pull the knife out of his boot on his way in. Instead he went for a broken zip tie that had been in his pocket for about a week. If it was Nat, he’d dodge it. Anyone else was going to have to pay the price for breaking into his room.

The zip tie fizzled out of existence in a flash of red heat before it could connect.

‘Hey, Wanda,’ he called. ‘I thought you were still out. When did you get back?’

‘Last night,’ she said as he stepped into view. ‘We finished early.’

She was curled into the corner of his couch, wearing an old SHIELD hoodie that he’d washed so many times the logo was barely visible anymore. He’d honestly forgotten that he still owned it.

‘How’d it go?’ he asked, dropping onto the other end of the couch.

She hummed and tucked her hands into the hoodie pocket. ‘Well, we won,’ she muttered.

He leaned forward and dug through the piles of random crap on the coffee table until he found the TV remote. He had a couple of seasons of some dumb cooking show saved onto the DVR. It would make a nice background distraction.

It was pleasantly warm in his apartment, and Clint knew he would have been sweating if he’d been the one wearing the hoodie. Wanda seemed unconcerned by the heat though, despite being used to much cooler temperatures. And he hadn’t exactly missed the way she’d dodged his question.

‘You want a hug?’ he offered. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened on their mission, but clearly it hadn’t been good. Wanda rarely came back looking this shaken and she’d never sought him out before. Usually she went to Pietro, but he was also on mission at the moment. Clint sighed. They were stretched too thin, with too many ongoing priorities and not enough active Avengers.

Wanda nodded and wriggled around until she was buried against his side. Her hand brushed against his arm as she settled and he frowned when he noticed how cold it was. He reached out and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, using it as an excuse to check her temperature. Maybe she was getting ill?

‘Want JARVIS to turn up the heat in here?’ he asked. ‘You’re a little chilly there.’

Wanda shook her head. ‘I will be fine, once I regain my energy,’ she assured him. ‘I pushed beyond what I should have, and my power is a little depleted. Nothing more.’

Clint rolled his eyes and yanked the throw from the back of the couch. He’d learned to read _Nat_ ; he was hardly going to believe Wanda’s half-hearted attempts to lie to him.

‘You’re freezing,’ he said bluntly. ‘How the hell did Steve let it get this bad? He’s usually better at taking care of a team than this.’ Steve should have noticed that Wanda was pushing too hard and stopped her. Clint hadn’t been on the mission brief, but he’d been vaguely aware of what was planned. It wasn’t anything that should have required Wanda to use all of her power. It certainly hadn’t looked like something that would have left the rest of the team too out of it to notice that Wanda was hurting.

‘He had more important things to focus on,’ Wanda said, frowning. Clint got the feeling _he_ was the one she was frowning at. ‘He was injured, and trying to evacuate civilians. I was not a priority.’

Clint figured that she’d never actually mentioned to anyone that she’d overexerted herself. Not if Cap had been injured. Wanda, like many other members of the team, was far too self-sacrificing.

‘You know that injuries on the team are always a priority. If nothing else, what would have happened if they’d needed your help and you didn’t have the power available?’ 

The look she gave him could have curdled milk. ‘I do not _run out_ of power,’ she muttered, ‘I simply get very cold. The more I use, the longer it takes to get warm. It was not a priority.’

Clint sighed. ‘And if Cap had seen you injured, he’d have acted like _he_ was fine,’ he huffed. ‘Apparently, not a goddamn one of us thinks this shit through. You are a priority. If doing something is going to bring you harm, then it’s a last resort, and you should _absolutely_ communicate these things with your team in the field.’

‘It’s not harmful,’ she whispered. ‘It doesn’t _hurt me_. I just get so cold.’

She shivered and he automatically tucked the blanket tighter around her. He could barely see her face, for the way she’d burrowed her nose into the neck of the hoodie. It was big enough on her that only her eyes were visible. 

‘Does it always work like that?’ Clint asked suddenly, a lump springing to his throat.

She shrugged. ‘It’s not often like this. Unless I do something big, it usually only lasts a minute or two. Hoodies help,’ she added, snuggling further into the hoodie.

Clint nodded. ‘Well, feel free to keep that one,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty sure it hasn’t fit me for years.’

He knew it didn’t fit anymore. He’d been a lot skinnier (and at least an inch shorter) when he first got it. In fact, he hadn’t even technically been a SHIELD agent when it had been given to him. It was safe to say he couldn’t wear it anymore.

Wanda smiled up at him and gestured at the TV, ‘This man,’ she said, ‘Why does he shout so much?’

Clint grinned and settled down to explain the finer details of Hell’s Kitchen to Wanda.


	3. Skye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is our fill for the Ladies of Marvel bingo square W4 - Genre: Telenova

Clint was tired. His mission had been long, and boring, and very far away from home, and he’d had to spend _way_ too long on a plane, and now he just wanted to chill a little. He’d given up on heading back to his apartment, since that would have just prolonged his travel woes. Traffic in New York was a nightmare.

So, here he was, still at SHIELD HQ, heading to his favourite lounge. It was just far enough away from the barracks to be too far for most people to bother with, but not so close to central hub that people took their breaks there. In short, it was usually empty. Usually.

There was a girl curled up on the couch. He privately admitted that she was probably at least twenty, but he was just grumpy enough from exhaustion to consider that too young to be usurping his couch. She’d managed to find the comfiest cushion in the place. He’d spent valuable time arranging it and moulding it so that it perfectly conformed to his tired slouch. Worst of all, she was watching his telenovelas. He recognised the show, but not the episode, which meant she was further ahead than him. Rude.

‘Rude,’ he said, because he felt like she should know. ‘I wasn’t done with the episode I left it on.’

The girl startled, nearly falling off the couch. He almost felt bad, but she’d watched ahead of him in _his_ show.

‘What the fuck!’ she cried, glaring. ‘Jesus! They should put a bell on you!’

Clint glared back. He’d been told that his glare could be scary, especially when he was running on less sleep than was medically advisable. It didn’t seem to bother her though. He tried a little harder.

‘Are you feeling alright?’ she asked eventually. ‘It’s just… you look a little constipated. I bet medical would give you something for that if you asked.’

‘I’m not fucking constipated!’ he yelled. ‘I’m grumpy because I’m tired and _you_ watched ahead in _my_ show. I don’t even know who you are!’

She turned around far enough to stick her hand out over the back of the couch. ‘I’m Skye. You’re Barton. Nice to meet you. What episode were you on?’

He stared at her in confusion for a moment. ‘Oh, hey! You’re one of Phil’s kids!’ He hadn’t realised Phil and his team were on base. ‘I don’t remember the episode number, but it’s the one where Teresa tells her sister that she’s pregnant with Alejo’s baby. I think they were about to reveal whether or not she was lying.’

Skye nodded. ‘That’s three episodes back,’ she said. ‘I can jump back, I guess.’

Clint dropped onto the couch with a sigh, all offense forgotten now that he knew she was one of Phil’s. Phil’s people were good people.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered, ‘And sorry for startling you.’

Skye just nodded and flicked over to the menu.

* * *

It became a habit. Clint was on base for a few months to complete some mandatory training and to mentor a new batch of prospective snipers. The Bus was grounded for maintenance and May’s broken shoulder. Clint always spent a couple of hours a week curled up in his break room with his shows. Now when he did it, Skye inevitably trailed in before the opening credits were finished.

‘Have you injected me with a tracker, or something?’ he asked her one day. She’d turned up less than a minute after he’d hit play, dropped a bag of popcorn onto his stomach and flopped onto the other end of the couch.

‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said with a snort. ‘Phil did that years ago. I just hacked it.’

Clint laughed, though he wasn’t entirely sure that she wasn’t joking.

‘Well, hurry up and get comfy, Ignacio is about to reveal his dastardly plan,’ he said, settling back into his preferred viewing position - sprawled lazily across half the couch.

‘It’s gonna be murder,’ she said, ‘I’m calling it now. He’s just gonna straight up murder him.’

‘Nah,’ Clint shook his head, ‘Blackmail and extortion, that’s more his jam.’

‘Five dollars?’

‘You’re on.’

They shook on it and settled in to see who was correct. Over the course of the episode, Skye slid further and further down the couch, curling into a ball in the corner. Clint kept watch out the corner of his eye.

‘You ok there, kid?’ he asked eventually.

‘It’s fucking freezing in here,’ Skye growled. ‘Has Fury never heard of heating his fucking buildings?’

‘Bring a blanket or something next time?’ he suggested, shrugging. The temperature felt fine to him. ‘Or drink some coffee; that’ll warm you right up.’

She didn’t bring a blanket with her the next time. Or the next few times after that. It turned into a routine; they’d watch half an episode, she would complain about the cold, and he’d go fuck with the thermostat and spend the rest of the episode sweating because the room was too warm for him.

* * *

The next time she turned up to watch with him, he took preventative measures.

‘What the actual fuck, Barton?’ she shouted as the wadded up fabric hit her in the face. She flailed a little and eventually managed to disentangle herself. Her hair ended up sticking out in interesting directions and Clint had to do his best not to laugh at her. She looked like an affronted owl.

‘You’re cold, the hoodie is warm. Wear it,’ he told her, turning back to the TV. ‘I wanna see Lupita get her revenge on Teresa and Alejo without dying of heat stroke first.’

Skye scowled at him, but tugged the hoodie on, flipping the hood up to demonstrate her displeasure.

‘Alejo’s gonna die of something totally unrelated before she can,’ she said, huffing a little. ‘Twenty dollars on it.’

‘Be prepared to lose twenty dollars then,’ Clint said, grinning.

He turned out to be right; it was Teresa who died before Lupita could pull off her revenge scheme. Skye grumbled about it for an episode and a half, only forgetting it when it was revealed that Hector had been involved with the gang all along. She’d called it four episodes ago and won her money back from it. When they went their separate ways later in the evening, Clint noticed that she was still wearing the hoodie.

* * *

After that, Skye turned up wearing the hoodie every time they watched together. Clint enjoyed not having to melt through the last episode or two. 

‘Hey, Barton,’ Skye said one day, a few months after they’d started hanging out.

‘Mmm?’

‘You know we’re leaving tomorrow, yeah?’

Clint paused for a moment, his mouth full of popcorn. That did sound like something he kind of vaguely knew.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘How we gonna watch the next season then? I’m not waiting four months to see what happens next.’

Skye stared at him for a second, and Clint got the feeling he’d surprised her, though he didn’t have the motivation to figure out why.

‘I don’t know how well it’ll work out, with schedules and stuff,’ she said, fiddling with the drawstring of the hoodie, ‘But there’s places online you can watch stuff together. I’m sure I could figure something out.’

‘From everything you’ve told me about your “mad skillz”,’ Clint said, making air quotes, ‘I’m sure you can. You’ve got my email address, yeah? Just drop me a line and let me know what you work out. Or, actually, here, give me your phone,’ he held out his hand and waited. Skye handed it over and he tapped a few buttons to enter his phone number. ‘I never check my email anyway. Send me a text and I might actually reply occasionally.’

* * *

It wasn’t until Clint was back in his apartment a week later that he realised that he couldn’t find his hoodie. He shot Skye a text, knowing she would see it at some point.

_Rude_

_What did I do this time? I haven’t skipped ahead._

_You stole my hoodie, brat_

Her reply pinged in a moment or two later.

_Lol. You catch it, you keep it. You’re the one that threw it at my head._

He couldn’t help laughing. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of hoodies.


End file.
